Put To Rest

The truth of the season is inevitable
and there is no remedy but to submit
to its insistent imperative. Our lovely
garden that has so generously charmed
and delighted us through too-short
summer months must now undergo its
seasonal deconstruction process.

Even while the gardens are yet vibrant
with colour there is little other option,
for overnight frosts are performing
their own feats of garden diminishment.
So up come the impatiens and the dahlias.
The exquisitely gorgeous begonias can
still linger for yet another day or two.

Out come the geraniums, but for those
still cheekily flowering. The leggy petunias,
bacopa and million bells, the nasturtiums
and marigolds, peaked and wan, join the
growing compost heap. It is a lovely day,
cool and breezy, the sun sitting high and
warm. Our overfed toy poodle basks
comfortably, enamoured of the sun.

I cut back turtleheads, Japanese anemones,
peonies and ladies mantle. The marigolds
and pansies, geraniums and bellflowers
join hydrangea on the compost heap. A spider
web is laced between a hemlock and a large
garden pot, the spider squatting in its lair
feasting on a plump fly, its size dwarfed
by that of the hulking, crab-like spider.

I work gingerly around the web, to yank
an ivy, and regret that the web accompanies
it, the spider abandoning its prey, seeking
refuge upon the hemlock. No matter, the
industrious predator will build another web.
The fly is beyond redemption, what is left of
it hanging on the delicate filaments of web.

Out come the tomato plants, their fragrance
arrestingly mouth-watering. Finally, time
to break off, tomorrow and the next day
promise ample time to continue. I will
trim the tea and floribunda roses, then cap
them each with a white rose hut, so they
may safely overwinter. They will resemble
headstones in a graveyard, to thrill the
children when they come calling on
Hallowe'en night threatening tricks,
happily deigning to accept the treats.